


Back Again

by Rina_san28



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Baby Hobbits, Domestic Fluff, Dwarves in the Shire, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mentioned Past Character Death, Multi, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 17:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rina_san28/pseuds/Rina_san28
Summary: Thorin and Bilbo are eager to see their boys. It really has been far too long.





	Back Again

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'll just right a quick little Bagginshield drabble, it shouldn't take long.
> 
> Me: *seven pages later* ...Oops.
> 
> This is kind of set when Bilbo is about 90 years old. I played a bit with ages, but nothing is outright stated.

Bilbo woke slowly, savoring the transition between sleep and wakefulness. He let himself lie there for a time and enjoy the feel of the sunlight on his face as it seeped through the curtains, the sweet scent of the flowers on his dresser, and the warmth of his…

Wait. 

He rolled over and reached an arm out, frowning when he felt only empty bed. _Unusual._ He sat up, letting out a soft groan when his bones creaked in protest, as they often did these days. After tugging on a fresh shirt and trousers, he began his search. 

There was no one in the bathroom, nor the study. The dining room was silent, the kitchen cold, and the parlour untouched from the day before. The silence could only mean that the home’s younger inhabitants were still fast asleep, but it was not them that Bilbo was searching for. _Him_ he found on the bench outside the main door, his crutch lying in the beside him. He took a moment to stand in the doorway and just...look. 

His long hair, liberally streaked with silver, shone softly in the early morning light, and his frame still held the strength it had on that night so many years before. Though Bilbo could only see his back, he knew those eyes were still a piercing blue. Any who saw him would still likely recognise him. There were subtle differences, however, and it was those that were appreciated the most. His feet were bare, his beard long and braided, and he wore no armor where once there had been enough layers to crush even the strongest hobbit. Even his clothes were no longer the sturdy tunics he had come to the Shire with; those were long lost to the wear and tear of daily life. 

No, Thorin Oakenshield was not the quite the same dwarf that Bilbo had brought home those many years ago. 

“Are you going to stand there all morning, Master Burgler?” Thorin’s deep rumble shook Bilbo out of his thoughts, and the hobbit smiled before carefully making his way down the steps.

“I was just enjoying the view, Master Oakenshield,” he replied, settling himself on the bench. When Thorin looked at him, peering amusedly over his spectacles, Bilbo offered a wink. “And what a fine view it was, too.”

“You dirty old hobbit,” Thorin said, fighting back a laugh. “What am I to do with you?”

“What you must, I suppose.” Bilbo held out his hand, and Thorin automatically surrendered his pipe. With a hum of thanks, he closed his eyes, letting the pipeweed wash over his senses. He then returned it to its owner, opened his eyes, and released a perfect smoke ring. 

“Show off,” came the returning growl, and Bilbo laughed. 

The pair sat together in silence for a time, listening to the birds sing as the world woke around them. At some point their fingers entwined, the motion so practiced as to not need sight any longer. It was peaceful and warm, and there was nothing else that could be better. 

Bilbo finally broke the silence. “You left your leg off?”

Thorin glanced down at the space where his foot used to be. “It ached, so I figured I could wait to attach it until later. Hamfast stopped by earlier with a basket of Bell’s teacakes. He says there’s rain on the way.”

“Mmm. ‘Tis the season, I suppose. My knees say the same.” Bilbo registered the beginning of his husband’s statement then. “Wait. Did you say teacakes?” 

Thorin smiled and reached underneath the bench, pulling out a cloth-covered basket that was giving off a heavenly smell. “I planned to wait until you woke.”

“Well, I’m awake now,” Bilbo said, already pushing back the cloth. “Let’s get to it!” He reached inside and took out a round, sighing in pleasure when he found it still warm Ever so carefully, he tore it in half, offering one to Thorin. If the first bite was accompanied by a deep moan, only the dwarf heard, and, well...he’d heard that particular sound on many other occasions. 

“What has you up so early?” he asked around a mouthful of teacake. “Usually you’re immovable until at least second breakfast.” 

Thorin wordlessly looked towards the sunrise. 

“Ah,” Bilbo muttered. “I thought so.” He turned on the bench and poked his husband on the chest. “You are a nervous nettle.”

“I take offense to that.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he said, dismissing the complaint. “They’re your kin! They’ll be overjoyed to see you!”

“That is not what worries me.” Thorin’s hand came up to rub his chest, right where Bilbo knew an old, knotted scar lie. “Orc raids have begun to increase, much faster than they had before the battle at the gates.” 

“Thorin, they are skilled warriors. I’m certain they will be just fine.” 

“It’s different this time,” Thorin insisted. “They’re bringing the children-”

“Which just means they’ll be even more protective of the caravan,” Bilbo said calmly, running a thumb over Thorin’s knuckles. “Doubting them is doing them - and yourself - a grave disservice.” 

The dwarf grumbled, then sighed. He leaned over and rested his forehead against Bilbo’s. “I worry about them,” he admitted. “I still wonder if it was foolish of me to hand the crown to Dís so soon after reclaiming Erebor. I wonder how it reflected on my family. Do the people doubt their strength? Their resolve?” He shook his head lightly, as if to clear it. “Just listen to me, still second-guessing a decision made nigh on forty years ago.”

“You silly old dwarf,” Bilbo said fondly. “You led your people for so long, Thorin. You were much too young, from what I understand, when the crown fell to you. You did so much for them, even building a new home for them from the ground up. That is no small feat!” He waved a finger at him, then tapped the tip of his nose. “But your sister did the same. They would not have forgotten that. She was just as beloved by them as you were.” 

Thorin hummed, lost in his thoughts. Bilbo let him stew as he resumed the consumption of his tea cake. The peace, unfortunately, was not to last. 

“Mister Bilbo?” 

“Uncle!”

Bilbo turned to see two little faces peering out of an open window. “Good morning, boys. Are you hungry?” He received wide-eyed nods in response. “Get the other two of your little mob out here, then. Your mother sent along some teacakes for first breakfast, Samwise.”

“Teacakes!” The window slammed shut, but the excited twittering of little faunts could still be heard. 

“You plan to share them?” said Thorin in mock surprise. “I was certain you would squirrel them away somewhere!”

Bilbo gave him a good thwack on the arm. “Oh, now, don’t start! Or I’ll be sending you back to the Mountain with those boys of yours, you mark my words!” Thorin, insolent dwarf that he was, chuckled.

“Teacakes?” The pair turned around to see Frodo and Sam each leading a smaller faunt by the hand, all four of them still in their pajamas. 

“Yes, Merry, teacakes,” Thorin rumbled affectionately. When the lad was in reach, the former dwarf king scooped him up into his lap, prompting a round of giggles. Pippin, not wishing to be left out, tugged on the leg of Bilbo’s trousers. 

“Come here, you!” Bilbo lifted him up, smiling when the faunt immediately reached for the basket. “Slow down, lad, it’ll still be there in a minute!”

Bilbo and Thorin set up each boy with half a teacake, smiles growing wider with every pleased chirp coming from them. Frodo and Sam curled up on the grass in front of the bench, chattering happily at the group in general about this, that, or the other. Little Merry even managed to remember his manners enough to pause in making a crummy mess of Thorin’s shirt to offer a solemn “thank you.” Pippin, however, had no such qualms. _Much like his mother at that age,_ Bilbo thought fondly. 

Thorin put Merry down and brushed futilely at his shirt. “According to the raven Fíli sent last night, they camped just west of Bree. He guessed that they’d make it here by mid-morning.” 

“Just in time for second breakfast, then!” Bilbo clapped his hands together. “I could probably whip something nice up for them in time.”

“We’ll help, Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo said, bouncing in place. “Right, Sam?”

“Yessir, Mister Bilbo!” Sam nodded vigorously. “Me mam says I’m a good helper!”

“I’m sure you are a great help, Sam,” Bilbo agreed. “But both of you have to get dressed first. Quickly now!” The two scampered off into the house, Frodo already working at the buttons of his nightshirt. 

Thorin grabbed his crutch and stood, pausing to regain his balance before turning towards the house. “I can take care of the little ones, _ghivashel,”_ he said. “You may want to try and get to the kitchen before the boys do.”

“Oh dear, yes, that may be best.” Bilbo winced, memories of the last time the faunts had slept over dancing through his head. He set Pippin down, and Thorin took the lad’s tiny hand in his. 

“Come along, _kurdîth,”_ Thorin told them as he led them back to the door. “Let’s get you ready for an adventure.”

“Like Misser Bibbo’s?” Merry asked, taking Pippin’s other hand and obediently following.

“Not quite,” Thorin said, the smile audible in his voice, “but close.”

“Close indeed,” Bilbo muttered as the three disappeared inside. He bent and picked up the basket, allowing a small grunt as his joints protested. “We’ll see what they do to the plumbing this time.” The hobbit looked back out to the hills, almost hoping to see the caravan already there. He’d missed his boys; it had been far too long since they’d last visited. With another wistful glance, Bilbo headed back into his home. He had a great deal of cooking to do and very little time to do it. 

-_-_-_-_-_-

“Alright, Sam, now pour in the honey - carefully, carefully!” Bilbo fluttered his hands around worriedly as the boy did as instructed, his flour-covered face scrunched up in concentration. 

“I’m not Frodo, Mister Bilbo,” he said with all of the seriousness that a faunt his age could muster. “I _listen.”_

Frodo, the cause of the trio’s flour-covered state, grumbled from where he was stirring another bowl. “It was an accident!”

“I know, lad, I know,” Bilbo reassured him. “I’m just an old fusspot.” A snort came from the parlor. “Don’t give me that sass, Thorin Oakenshield, or I’ll wallop you!”

“Sounds good to me!” Thorin called back.

Bilbo sputtered. “Not around the children, for Yavanna’s sake!” 

“What does Uncle Thorin mean?” Frodo asked, his face the picture of innocence. 

“Nothing, lad,” Bilbo said firmly despite his burning ears. “Nothing worth any thought at all.”

Thorin appeared in the doorway then, a little hobbit hanging off each arm. “If you can spare your helpers for a moment, it might be wise to send them to clean up. The caravan should be coming into view soon.”

“Good idea. Off you go!” The boys ran off without any more prompting. “I just need to mix the bowls together and pop the pan in the oven. They should be done by the time they arrive,” Bilbo said, bustling around the kitchen as he tried to separate the batter from the mess. 

“Honey cakes,” Thorin said, lifting Merry and Pippin up to sit on his shoulders. “You’re spoiling them!”

“They’ve traveled a long way! They deserve to be spoiled!” He snapped a dish towel at his husband. “Now get out of my kitchen!”

“Yes, dear.” Thorin gave a mock bow, much to the delight of the little ones, and did as he was told. 

Bilbo hummed as he worked, letting his mind wander. It had been almost twenty years since Thorin’s nephews had last come to the Shire. In that time both boys had married and become fathers, Fíli had been widowed, and, according to Kíli at least, finally grown a decent beard. Thorin had been increasingly anxious ever since the group had sent word that they’d left Erebor, and Bilbo couldn’t wait for them to arrive if only to see his husband relaxed again. 

Thorin had ruled in Erebor, the Company by his side, for a grand total of four months. The stress, on top of his grievous battle wounds and his continuing feelings of grief and guilt over his actions when under the spell of dragon sickness, had nearly killed him. It was on Óin’s suggestion that Thorin step aside, at least for a while, and let Dís rule. After a week holed up in the royal chambers with his sister and nephews, he decided to step down permanently and head back to the west to live with Bilbo. They had married three days before they departed, escorted by the entire company - plus Tauriel - for one last hurrah. 

Their years in Hobbiton had been quiet, Bilbo reflected, and on his final visit before leaving for Moria, Balin had pulled Bilbo aside and quietly told him that he hadn’t seen Thorin that happy and whole since before Smaug. He still counted that conversation as the mark of his success. The whole time, though, Thorin had missed his nephews. He loved them like sons, and in one sense they were. He had helped Dís to raise them, and they had rarely been parted up until the end of their quest. Their absence was one ache that Bilbo could not heal, although their adoption of Frodo had eased it somewhat. 

“Uncle!” Frodo skidded into the kitchen as Bilbo removed the pan of cakes from the oven. “Uncle, Uncle, Uncle!”

“What is it, my boy? Are they here?”

Frodo nodded, curls and braids bouncing. “They’re coming up the road! Come on!” He grabbed Bilbo’s hand and dragged him towards the door, quivering with excitement. Bilbo followed easily, a grin worming its way onto his face. 

Bilbo made it outside just as the wagon crested the hill. Tauriel walked ahead of it, her and Kíli’s youngest strapped to her front, and Fíli and Kíli sat on the front, Fíli and Sigrid’s boy in between them as they drove. Kíli let out a happy cry as he spotted them, and Thorin stood in response, setting Pippin down and moving as fast as he could to the front gate. Bilbo let go of Frodo and rushed to join him, his grin now impossible to control.

The wagon stopped, the gate opened, and Thorin and Bilbo found themselves with an armful of dwarrow. 

-_-_-_-_-_-

“...the dwarrow realized what the clever hobbit was doing and joined in. ‘Yes, we have parasites!’ they shouted. ‘I have parasites as big as my arm!’ ‘I have the biggest parasites!’” The children giggled as Bilbo told the troll story, even the eldest of them curled up on the floor in front of him. The adults were seated together by the fire, smiling as well as they remembered their journey. Thorin cradled Kíli’s sleeping infant daughter in his lap. Bilbo met his eyes and received a small, content smile. 

It was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Translations:**  
>  _Ghivashel:_ treasure of all treasures  
>  _kurdîth:_ (the) hearts that are young
> 
> I'm rina-san28 on Tumblr! Come say hi!


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